


To Fix You

by marvelous_hale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master stiles, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slavery, Slow build Sterek, Tortured Derek, Trauma, i'll keep adding tags as the story evolves, mentions of rape/non-con and torture, slave!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2186127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelous_hale/pseuds/marvelous_hale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is one of the most dangerous and disobedient werewolves in the entire state. Many trainers tried to force him to submit to the fate of his kind - to slavery - but he still insisted on fighting. Even the Argents failed to make Derek a good slave, so now it's time to reach for the heaviest weaponry available. Come in Stiles Stilinski - the most cruel and vicious werewolf retrainer in California. Will he be able to tame the beast? And is he really the person everyone thinks he is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write this for MONTHS, so I'm really stressed about posting this. But more importantly, spell-check on my PC decided to play a prank on me and stop working, so do tell me if I've made any errors, so that I can fix them. I proof read it a few times but it's always difficult to check your own work. (Also, I attribute and 'it's z, not s!' errors to my acquired Britishness :P)
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

'We've tried virtually everything with this one, but he still won't budge. Even the Argents had him for a couple of months, but nothing changed,' the Officer complained in a resigned voice. Stiles sat back nonchalantly in the chair on the opposite side of the man's desk, seemingly interested in everything, but what the officer had to say.

'Is that so?' Stiles mumbled, out of politeness more than anything else.

When he looked up, the officer looked unsure of himself, probably wondering how best to behave in Stiles's presence. Everybody in Beacon Hills knew what he did for a living, but only a few trated him normally despite it. Breaking in disobedient werewolves and selling them on to well-paying buyers may not have been your typical 9 to 5 dayjob, but it paid the bills, so Stiles didn't know what the deal was really all about. He's always been seen by everyone as the Sheriff's weird, spastic kid, famed for his intelligence when he was younger and now feared for his cruelty, but since he started doing this, people acted even weirder around him. Not that he cared. He was an adult now, an adult with a job to do.

'So...' the officer – Haigh, his badge said – started, clearly hoping to get Stiles out of his office as soon as possible.

'So it's the usual,' Stiles finished for him. 'Can we please get on with this? From what you just said it seems like I have a lot of work to do.'

'Yes, sir,' Haigh replied, nodding his head eagerly and getting up to pick up his keys. Stiles shot him a questioning look once he heard the honorific, making the other man even more flustered. Stiles followed him out of the office, grinning to himsef. Within the last hour he decided he hated the guy, so seeing him so uncomfortable was a good enough reward for doing his job.

* * *

 

One thing that Stiles hated about the Facility was the mazes of dark, concrete corridors that he always had to go through when picking up his new 'assignments'. He never liked small spaces, and more often than not, the smell of blood hung in the air, making it difficult to breathe, bringing back memories of the panic attacks he still used to suffer not so long ago.

He felt relieved when Haigh finally stopped at the end of one of the corridors. Stiles could hear the sounds of metal clinking and punches being landed, and he didn't need to look inside to know what was going on behind the securely-locked steel door. Every single time he came up to pick a new werewolf, the officers at the Facility took it upon themselves to beat the creature bloody before chaining them up and putting them in Stiles's car. They always said it was to make sure that the animal didn't cause any trouble on their way home, but one didn't need to be a professional working in this environment ever since college to know that they simply needed a punchbag.

Haigh pulled the door open, holding his cattle prod in front of him as they walked into the dark, stinking cell. Three Facility officers loomed over a creature curled into a ball on the floor, one of them still landing kicks to the animal's back.

'I think that's enough, gentlemen,' Stiles said quietly, but in a voice that would make everyone stop in their tracks. The officers backed up against the walls immediately, leaving the shaking mass of flesh and dirty rags in the middle of the cell. Stiles took a step towards it and knelt down, putting his finger under the werewolf's chin and turning his head towards Stiles.

'Can you stand?' he asked, his voice still indifferent, but devoid of the steel-cold disgust that had been present ever since he entered the Facility about an hour ago.

The werewolf must have thought it was an order as tried to push himself up on his elbows, when his back arched and he howled in pain, as countless volts of electricity tore through his battered body. Stiles turned around to look at Haigh, and saw the man's finger on the control box for the collar fastened tightly around the werewolf's neck; even from his position on the floor Stiles could see that the voltage was turned up to the highest setting.

'I think I'll take it from here,' Stiles said cooly, extending his hand towards Haigh, clearly waiting for the man to hand over the controls. 'And how the hell am I supposed to get him out of here now?' the young man spat out.

'I...I thought he was going to attack you, si-...' the officer trailed off, clearly unnerved by Stiles' anger.

'Well, let me do the thinking from now on,' Stiles replied, putting his hand on the back of the werewolf's neck. He surely wouldn't be walking by himself now, still shaking, curled in on himself even more and visibly trying to contain tears, threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes.

'Does he have a name?' Stiles asked, not addressing anyone in particular, too focused on the shaking form laying at his feet.

'Derek. Derek Hale,' said one of the officers who were beating the creature up only a few minutes earlier. Stiles looked up at him and nodded, offering a silent 'thank you' for the reply.

He ran his thumb over the werewolf's neck, deep in thought. He noticed that the collar he was wearing was the special kind, with a wire embedded inside the werewolf's neck, going all the way down to his spinal cord, making sure that any attempts at yanking it out would end in immediate death. Only the most violent werewolves had to wear them, or so the Facility said. But somehow it wasn't the threat of violence that worried Stiles most about this one.

'Derek,' Stiles whispered. Nothing happened. 'Derek,' Stiles tried, this time sounding more authoritative. Still nothing. 'Listen Derek, these men are going to put the chains on you now, take you to my car and then I'm going to drive you to your new home. I need you to behave, or I _will_ be forced to use this.' Stiles put the remote for the collar in Derek's field of vision.

The werewolf grunted, as if he was trying to say something,  probably a curse directed at Stiles. The word, whatever it was, came out unintelligible, sounding like it came from neither human nor werewolf. Normally, Stiles would have to punish him for mouthing off in public, but this time he let it slide.

'Gentlemen,' Stiles motioned  with  his head towards Derek, signalling to the four officers that it was time to get him out of the cell.

Two men hauled Derek up by his shoulders, eliciting a high-pitched whine from the werewolf, while the other two cuffed his hands together in front of him, put shackles on his ankles and stuffed a dirty piece of cloth into his mouth. As soon as the restraints were on, Haigh shoved Derek hard from behind.

'Move!' the officer yelled, his voiced tinted with disgust, but also something else, something that Stiles has learned to interpret as carefully-hidden fear.

As soon as Derek was pushed, he fell hard onto the concrete floor, bumping his head against it as he landed. Haigh looked like he was about to kick him, and as soon as Stiles sensed danger, he stepped in.

'Look, in case you forgot, I'm actually paying for him, so I'd appreciate it if you could at least not throw him around like a sack of potatoes!' he yelled, taking a threatening step towards Haigh.

'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,' he mumbled in reply to Stiles' outburst.

The other officers in the cell were familiar with the ritual; if a werewolf couldn't walk, they had to drag him to Stiles' battered, old Jeep by force. Most of the time the  animals didn't even have the strenght to struggle against their hold, so the job was fai r ly easy. Then it was all up to Stilinski and they didn't particularly care about that part. They enjoyed kicking and punching, but they knew that the kid's job took far more creativity than that, and even they didn't want to know what hellish methods he used to break his victims.

Just when they were about to load Derek into Stiles' car, Haigh came up to the werewolf, and put his hand on Derek's collar. Suddenly Derek squeezed his eyes shut, and his entire body jerked, making Stiles wonder what his next trainee had already gone through.

'Come on, hop in,' Stiles held Derek's shoulder in a firm grip and helped the werewolf get settled in the passenger seat of the Jeep,  once Haigh backed off . He fastened the seatbelt for Derek and put the collar controls somewhere the werewolf wouldn't be able to reach them  even  if he managed to break out of the shackles somehow.

'Good luck,' said Haigh, just as Stiles was about to get into the car. The younger man nodded towards the officer and without turning back, he took his seat, fastened the seatbelt and was on his way.

* * *

 

Every now and then, Stiles shot Derek a glance, trying to read any feelings or reactions from his new trainee's body. But the werewolf kept still, as if he was a statue, not paying any attention to his surroundings, probably too engrossed in the lingering pain and misery. Stiles wondered if he was scared. Most of the younger ones who came through his door tended to be terrified out of their minds, having been told stories of horror about him by their previous owners. Derek didn't look as young though, and if he had spent any, even the shortest, amount of time with the Argents, Stiles doubted there was anything he could do to him that would hurt more.

About halfway through the way Stiles noticed that Derek was shaking. The dirty rags he was wearing didn't look particularly warm, but Stiles doubted that he was cold. They were in California after all and it was May.  Not to mention that werewolves naturally had higher body temperature than humans.

Stiles kept driving for a short while when he noticed that Derek was bent forward, as far as the seatbelt would let him, his breaths ragged and shallow, his eyes squeezed shut tightly and his bound hands clenched into fists.  It was Stiles' lucky day – they were right next to a gas station, so he pulled up right there and turned off the engine.

'Derek,' Stiles said, not unkindly, wanting to draw the werewolf's attention without startling him. He didn't move however, prom p ting Stiles to put a hand on his arm and squeez e it lightly.  Only then did Stiles realise that Derek still had the dirty rag in his mouth, making it impossible for him to speak. He immediately bent forward himself, hoping that Derek wouldn't pick this moment to bite off his fingers, and pulled the piece of cloth out of Derek's mouth as swiftly as possible. Derek didn't make an attempt at hurting Stiles, so the trainer felt brave and put his fingers under Derek's chin for the second time that day, making the werewolf look up at him. Now that the gag was gone, Stiles could see that the werewolf's face was twisted in a grimace of pain, his eyes trying to focus on everything but Stiles' s face.

'Can you tell me what's going on?'  Stiles asked, his voice gentle and encouraging.

'L-like you don't know,  _sir,'_ Derek replied, spitting the last word out with so much venom and disgust that Stiles couldn't help drawing back a little in his seat. He hoped that Derek didn't notice the movement.

'I wouldn't waste my breath asking if I did,' Stiles continued, this time making sure that he sounded assertive and commanding enough. 'Now tell me what's wrong or else I won't be able to make it better.'

Stiles expected Derek to do all kinds of stupid things, the incoming trainees – especially the ones labelled violent – always did, but instead of lashing out with his claws, Derek laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh, rather it was miserable, mocking and void of any  _real_ laughter, but it was there all the same.

'They tried  _everything_ ,' Derek whispered, sounding so very tired. 'Fire, electricty, even swords...sometimes they got more creative than that...You name it, you got it. So do y-you really b-believe that  _lying_ will get you there?' the werewolf finished.

Stiles sighed and rubbed the back of his head, thinking. Trust was the most important thing here. But it was also the most difficult one to achieve.

'I don't see how I've lied to you, Derek,' Stiles put his firmest and coolest voice  on . There would be time for other strategies later. 'But even if I know what's wrong, I want you to say it, so do as you're asked.' The young man picked up the remote for the collar fastened around Derek's neck, hoping that Derek would take the bait and that he wouldn't have to actually use it. He knew that his heart sped up when he saw Derek flinch, probably anticipating immediate punishment for his disobedience, but right now it wasn't his biggest concern.

'The c-collar,' Derek whispered, sounding defeated. 'It's...they've...' he trailed off, clearly struggling, as if he wanted and didn't want to tell Stiles at the same time.

Stiles leaned over towards Derek's side of the car and peaked at the collar. He'd already worked with them before and he knew that they could be activated and operated manually, without the help of the remote. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for: a little wheel  that could be turned to adjust the intensity of the voltage the collar was emitting. The little red light shining at the back of the device told Stiles that it was set to run current through the werewolf constantly, and the wheel was turned to almost the highest setting. Stiles pressed his thumb on the tiny button right next to the LED light and saw the change in Derek's posture immediately.

Some of the tension disappeared from his shoulder s , his face relaxed – albeit only slightly, and Stiles thought he heard something akin to a sob of relief. Well, if he did, he pretended not to, for Derek's benefit.

The werewolf didn't utter a word. Neither did Stiles and before he got the chance to ponder over it, they were back on the road.

* * *

 

It didn't take them long to get to Stilinski's house. Certainly not long enough for Derek to figure out why his new owner...no retrainer, would do  _anything_ to relieve him of pain, seeing how much of it he'd inflict on the victim himself. Maybe he considered himself an artist, wanting a clean canvas to work on?

Derek wasn't sure what  to make of the house. It was nowhere near as big as the Argents' residence, but that didn't come as much of a surprise, seeing that Stilinski seemed to live by himself.  It was still decorated with furniture that certainly wasn't cheap, but Derek knew that he got paid well. Werewolves were expensive, especially those well trained ones and Stiles was the single best trainer in California. The though of this man enriching himself thanks to the suffering of his kind made him sick to the stomach, more sick than anything this psychopath did to him ever could, but he  wouldn 't let this though get to him. After all, it was a perfect weapon to use against him.

Derek wasn't at all surprised that he wasn't given a tour of his new 'home' as Stilinski called it, but was led straight to a modestly decorated bedroom on the first floor of the house. There wasn't much there to see, other than the king-sized bed decorted with many soft-looking pillows (the purpose of which was obvious to Derek the moment they entered the room), a neat desk and a seemingly empty wardrobe.

Stilinski disappeared into the en-suite once they entered, leaving Derek standing in the doorway by himself. On a better day, he would have done something defiant, like walking into the room without permission or refusing to climb the stairs in the first place, but today definitely wasn't a good, not even a better day. He was still sore from his time with the Argents,  _with Kate_ , the lack of sleep combined with pain making him weak in the knees. He couldn't afford a punishment right now, and from what he heard, he especially couldn't afford a punishment from this guy.

'Strip. On the bed, on your stomach,' he heard from the doorway of the en-suite, where Stilinski stood wiping his hands on a fluffy-looking towel.

Obviously, Derek thought. He would want to sample the merchandise before doing anything else with it, wouldn't he?

He took o f f his 'clothes', if you could even call them that and folded them neatly before placing them down on the floor next to the bed.  Stilisnki would probably use this as an excuse to punish him later, because 'That was meant to go on that chair' or 'You could have done a better job of folding it, couldn't you, pup?'

Derek climbed the bed reluctantly. He could take the beatings and the physical pain, but this got to him on a more emotional level. If there was one thing he could try to salvage, it was the tiny, bruised remains of his dignity, but when they raped him like this, it was taken away from him in the most painful way possible. All of it.

The most vivid memory he had of his mother was when she told him to not fight them off with agression. She really believed they could make this work, that werewolves and humans could find a common solution. He cherished that memory, every memory of his family and his mother especially, so the first time a human did this to him, he didn't resist. He clenched his teeth through the burn, he blocked out the sounds his 'master' was making and he took it, just like that. Then his mother was gone and Laura taught him differently. But then she died too, they all died and all of a sudden there was no one else to take it for.

Derek was buried so deeply in his thoughts that he was startled when the bed dipped right next to him and a cold hand was placed at the dip of his back.  Imagining how his mother and Laura would feel if they could see him right now did it for him . He buried his face in the pillow, trying to hide from what Stilinski was about to do to him, and he cried, his dignity forgotten  for the briefest of moments.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, should I stop writing for ever or do you want to see what happens next? Were Derek and Stiles in character enough or did I go overboard with certain things? Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated, so please, leave a few words down below :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for the amazing response to the first chapter. I can't tell you how much it means to know that people actually enjoyed it ;) I must admit, it made me even more stressed about posting part 2, since I don't want to disappoint, but I spent some time polishing it up, so I hope you all enjoy!

Derek was beyond angry with himself. He'd been through worse than simple, unimaginative rape, so crying his eyes out over nothing was just stupid. He couldn't afford to show weakness to this psychopath, not so early on at least. Dozens of others may have given in before him, but he would be doing a dishonour to his kind if he went without a fight. He didn't mean to do it, but all of a sudden he sobbed quietly while trying to take a deep breath to calm down. Great... Although maybe, just maybe, having Stilinski think that he was weak could work to his advantage?

He expected a lot of different things to happen; to hear mocking laughter or another humiliating comment, maybe a slap to the back of the head, but to Derek's surprise none of these happened. Instead, Stilinski's hand moved gently up his body, only to rest at the back of his neck for a moment without exerting any real pressure. Seconds later, his future torturer was rubbing his thumb on Derek's flesh in a movement that would appear comforting if it came from another werewolf.

That was typical, Derek thought. Stilinski would probably try to lull him into a false sense of security, only to tear it all away once he saw fit and replace it with whips, hot iron and electricity.

'Hey, big guy,' Stilinski said quietly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did he want Derek to reply with something like 'hey, my glorious and worship-worthy master'? 'There are a lot of rumours going around about what I do. I don't know what they told you when you were at the Facility, but knowing these idiots it was probably a ton of bullshit,' Stilinski continued in that quiet voice, trying to appear nonthreatening. Not that it worked.

'And I assume that everything you say is the truth and nothing but the truth,' Derek replied in the most mocking tone he could muster while his throat was still dry from lack of hydration and raw from screaming.

'Well, not everything. I lie to my dad sometimes, but other than that, I try my best to be truthful with other people,' the younger man said.

'Then it's a shame I don't fall into that category,' Derek mumbled into the bedsheets. His voice came out muffled, but the growl he added for effect at the end was still audible. Instead of punishing him, Stilinski took his hand away from Derek's neck and sighed.

The younger man got up, paced the room and disappeared into the en-suite once again. Derek thought about running for a split second. He wouldn't get far, but at least he'd get his point across to his tormentor. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it though. His healing was still impaired from all the electricity...'treatment' they had administered earlier in the week and dying was the last thing he needed now.

When Stilinski emerged from the bathroom once again, he set something down on the nightstand next to the bed, so that Derek could see it if he turned his head slightly. It was a bowl, probably filled with some sort of acid, he guessed. Someone must have told Stilinski how docile he was for a few days after they burned him the first time. Derek gulped. He wondered if it was just his back today or if Stilinski was going to take this further.

'Derek, you've gone all stiff. I mean...more stiff that you were before. Damn it, we have a lot of work to do,' Stilinski sounded and _smelt_ upset.

Derek considered spilling the contents of the bowl on the retrainer, but he guessed that the only possible result to that would be death. Probably a painful and prolonged one.

'Can you relax for me?' Stilinski asked, sounding worried rather than angry now. 'Please?' he added after a moment's thought, seemingly exasperated with his trainee. If Derek hadn't been so exhausted he would have probably laughed at that.

'No, I cannot,' he mumbled, only to receive another sigh in reply. Stilinski sighed a lot; that probably wasn't good for Derek since it meant he got annoyed easily. Not that it mattered – he bought Derek with the sole purpose of torturing him, so that would probably happen regularly, regardless of his mood. 'I know what you're getting at and it's not going to work so you can get on with the entertainment without all the fuss,' Derek said, his voice breaking at the end of the sentence. Damn it, he could hardly stay awake enough to speak properly.

'I don't know... I don't even _want_ to know what the hell you're going on about,' Stilinski sounded angrier now, making Derek wish he had kept his mouth shut. 'Just lay still and don't do anything too stupid,' the younger man ordered.

Derek braced himself for the burning pain, clenching his fists, now free of the shackles, in the soft bedding he was laying on. Then it finally happened.

But it felt wrong...no, not wrong, just weird and unexpected and...nice? Stilinski was pressing a soft piece of cloth to his back, spreading a long-forgotten feeling of warmth along Derek's body. The liquid inside the bowl turned out to be nowhere near as threatening as what Derek thought it was. He should have sensed that it was just water with soap.

Of course, it  was obvious that Stilinski would wash him before putting his hands on him;  he wouldn't want to catch anything from a wild 'animal', would he? Derek should probably be grateful that he actually used warm water rather than just a garden hose, like all his other owners had,  but the prospect of getting raped so soon after this nice experience made it impossible to feel anything but disgust.

Derek tried to re m ain focused as Stilinski carried on with his ministrations. He couldn't let his attention slip, he couldn't let  _trust_ creep anywhere into his mind. Trust got Laura killed, he wasn't going to share that fate. But his body had a different opinion on it,  as Stilinski washed his shoulder blades, turning Derek into putty under his hands. His eyes started slipping closed  and he felt panic as soon as he realised that he couldn't do much to stop it.

_Focus. Focus. Focus._

All of a sudden Derek realised that Stilinski stopped and the bowl filled with water was being moved away from the nightstand. The torturer disappeared from Derek's field of vision, making his heart beat a good few times faster. Then all of a sudden Stilinski was right behind him, probably about to get on with abusing Derek, without any preparation, without  a warning even .

Before Derek's own consciousness had the time to register what was happening, he was jumping of f the bed, towards his assaulter. He didn't even transform, just went with the instincts that his body dictated  on the spot .

They both rolled  across the floor , Derek on top of Stilinski. He dragged the lanky human up by his shoulders, with the sudden burst of strength, not sure how to proceed from there.  The human struggled in his hold, trying to kick Derek and desperately reaching out towards something, probably the remote for the collar.

Derek wasn't a fan of killing, but i t would be so easy to rip the younger man's throat out on the spot, to leave him bleeding on his disgustingly-clean carpet. He would become just like  _them_ , but if a single kill was to be his road to freedom...

Derek didn't get the chance to make the decision, as he felt some thing stab him in the arm. It didn't hurt much, but Derek's knees gave out almost immediately and his vision got more blurred than it was before. He expected to feel the pain of his knees hitting the hard floor, but just as he was about to collapse, a pair of surprisingly strong arms caught him at the waist. He tried to struggle,  waved his arms frantically, pure  instinct driving him to save himself, but Stilinski's h o ld on him only tightened.

'Derek, calm the fuck down! ' Stilinski yelled, trying to drag his fighting victim back to the bed. Derek could practically feel his body shutting down, and he whined pathetically, no longer able to control his body's reactions to what was happening. 'It's okay, it's alright,' Stilinski said once Derek was back on the bed, face down. 'It's just a sedative, stop fighting!' the torturer's voice kept getting louder as he spoke, ending the sentence in a shout. Derek hadn't even realised he was still resisting until Stilinski told him to stop. He tried to say 'fuck off' but what came out instead was just another  broken half-sob, half-whine .

'Shh, you asshole. Just go to sleep, you're okay...you're still an asshole. But you're okay, you're okay,' Stilinski wasn't shouting anymore, just speaking to Derek softly. And oh, he wasn't raping him yet? That was nice, though  on the other hand  it would be nice to have it done with .

The last thing Derek's brain registered before he passed out was a  thick blanket being drawn up to his waist and a soft pillow being placed under his very confused head.

 

* * *

 

Stiles knew that Derek would be out for a good couple of hours, so he didn't even bother putting the chains on him when he left the house.  He would have preferred to stay with Derek, do some chores and prepare for the upcoming challenges, but his fridge was empty and so was Derek's closet, so some shopping was in order.

Stiles hated clothes shopping, he co n sidered it a tremendous waste of time, especially  since things could just be ordered online these days. Still, he needed  clothes for Derek right now, so he found himself walking around in a maze of hangers and shelves. He filled his cart with all sorts of things, praying that they would fit Derek. Stiles didn't even dare hope that the werewolf would  _like_ what he got for him, but he still did his best to pick neutral things, that  Derek wouldn't completely hate at the very least.

He found himself  choosing a multitude of different items: some comfortable slacks and jumpers that Derek could wear around the house, a few pairs of dark jeans for going out, a ton of t-shirts and some long-sleeved  Henleys , all topped up with a thick, dark jacket and a more casual leather one.

No other werewolf owners bothered with such extravagance and mostly made their slaves walk around in the same set of thin pants and  a  t-shirts that came with the purchase from the Facility. But Stiles was different; Stiles was  _the_ werewolf retrainer, who took care of his charges with great attention to every detail, clothing included. He had a reputation to  up keep up after all.

When he was paying for the items at the check-out,  the young sales assistant smiled knowingly at him.

'He seems to be a very lucky guy,' she said, obviously realising that Stiles wasn't buying the clothes for himself. She must have noticed they would be too big for him. 'Your boyfriend, I mean,' she added when Stiles made a slightly confused, but not unkind face at her.

'Sure he is,' Stiles replied, shooting the girl a forced smile. He was grateful that at least  _some_ people in this town didn't know what he did for a living. It certainly made situations such as this one much less awkward.

After he left Derek's new clothes and underwear in his car, he got back into the mall to do some grocery shopping. Whenever he had a new werewolf arrive he made sure to stock up on things as much as possible, seeing that some of them needed so much attention that leaving the house constantly to buy this or that was out of the question. He loaded the cart with virtually everything th at caught his eye, ranging from toiletries and bare esse n tials to cereal and dozens of yoghurts, topped up by some fruit. And candy, Stiles needed a lot  of candy.

He was so engrossed in trying to think of anything else they may need, that he didn't notice the person walking down the alley from the opposite direction and before he had the time to stop, their carts collided, making a loud noise and turning the heads of other shoppers.

'Sorry, I wasn't looking...Oh, hi  Allison !' Stiles said, his voice turning cheerful as soon as he looked up  and saw a familiar face.

'That's typical you, Stiles,' she replied without a greeting, a small smile dancing on her lips.  He would have considered it offensive coming from most other people, but Allison was a close friend and he considered these comments something of an inside joke these days. He learned to appreciate them as a sign of friendship, since  now it was only the chosen few who got to see Stiles's real self.  Allison eye d his cart with surprise painted on her face, and Stiles could easily spot the change in her expression as soon as she understood why he needed all these supplies. 'Derek?' she asked  unceremoniously.

'Derek,' Stiles replied and nodded his head, knowing that there was no need to hide anything from Allison.

'How has he been so far?' she asked curiously. Normally Stiles wouldn't discuss business with other people, but Allison was familiar with his work anyway, and she probably knew Derek, so there would be no harm in telling her.

'I only just brought him home today, but so far he's been one hell of a mouthy bastard, not to mention that he tried to mai m me just a couple of hours back,' he said neutrally.

'Mouthy? Then you should get on perfectly well,' Allison smiled at Stiles, apparently remembering one of his many arguments with Mr. Harris back in high-school. 'But...he didn't hurt you, did he?' she added after a moment's thought, her voice filled with concern.

'Nah, I'm fine. Just give it some time  and I'll get him to where he needs to be,' Stiles replied, straightening his back to show off his confidence. 'After all, I'm the best at what I do. And certainly better than your aunt,' he added, winking at Allison who nodded knowingly.

'I'm really sorry Stiles but I need to run, I'm meeting up with Lydia in a couple of minutes  and I  _really_ don't want to be late.'

'Sure thing, run off. Tell her I said 'hi''.  Allison waved at him and left without another word. Stiles stood in the alley for another moment, his mind back at home, with Derek. He picked up one more pack of choc-chip cookies and he was done for the day. 

* * *

Derek came awake by degrees, becoming aware of various things at different moments. The first thing he realised was that he was no longer laying on his front. Stilinski must have turned him onto his back when he was out cold, for whatever reason. Another, and a much more worrying thing, was that Derek could no longer move his limbs. When he tried to raise his arm, he heard the sound of metal screeching and he immediately knew that his hands were shackled in front of him once again. It didn't take him long to  figure out that his legs were chained up to the bed, undoubtedly as a  consequence of what happened before Stilinski knocked him out.

As soon as Derek opened his eyes, he  saw it was already dark outside, so he must have been asleep for a good while. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what that maniac  had done  to him over those few hours.

Derek sensed movement from a chair standing next to the bed, and immediately tried to raise himself up  _somehow_ , his fight or flight  instinct kicking in.  It wasn't an easy task to accomplish while being tangled up in a blanket and shackle s , so he wiggled for a few seconds, only to fall back onto the bed with a dissatisfied grunt.

'Hi there, take it easy,' a voice advised from above. A voice that Derek already associated with danger  and pain . Just for the sake of making a point to the voice, Derek moved around some more, hoping that the could at least roll o f f the bed and onto the floor. He got as far as the edge of the  mattress , tangling himself up more with the blanket and chains as he moved, only to be stopped by  a pair of hands  that  grabb ed his shoulders and pin ned him to the bed. Derek struggled for a brief moment, but realised that the next step towards calming him down would  probably be an electric shock, so he decided to lay still and see what Stilinski would do to him otherwise. 'That's it, that's awesome. Just lay back down for now,' the voice praised, probably hoping that it would add to Derek's humiliation.

'First things first – rules,' Stilinski said in a firm voice after taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to Derek. 'This house has a specifically designed security system, which will set off an alarm whenever you try to get out without me knowing about it.  It's also sur r ounded by an electric fence as you might have seen when we came in here, so you'll only hurt yourself by trying to get out,' Stilinski was talking about something that could potentially  _kill_ Derek, but he didn't seem at all disturbed by the seriousness of the topic.

'Yeah, because I'm sure that I won't  _hurt myself_ if I decide to stay here,'  Derek spat out in reply, furious that Stilinski made it sound as if he was responsible for his own suffering.

'About that,' Stilinski started, leaning over Derek and wrapping his hands around his waist. 'Whether you hurt yourself is up to you,' he continued. He dragged Derek up, into a half-sitting position and helped him lean against the bed's headboard. Derek didn't complain; if Stilinski had ordered him to do that, he would have failed without the ability to use his hands and legs. 'But the one thing I can promise you, is that  _I_ won't hurt you,' Stilinski looked Derek in the eye when he said it. Derek heard this without understanding. 'You attacked me earlier, and I needed to defend myself, but I won't  _hurt_ you. I promise.'

Derek stared at Stilinski for a moment, trying to judge if he was lying. His heartbeat was steady the whole time, but Derek knew that this guy worked with werewolves 24/7 so he probably taught himself to control it around them.

'So what do you consider  self-defense ? Whipping my back raw when I refuse to get down on my knees and suck you off? Or  maybe just being in the same room as such a vicious fucking animal is a threat to you already?!' Derek practically shouted, breathing hard,  getting more and more agitated by the second .

'No, Derek,' Stilinski said while standing up and heading over to the desk in the corner of the room. 'I mean what anyone would mean when talking to another person.'

Derek wouldn't believe this.  _Couldn't_ believe this. Stilinski was a torturer and  a  murderer and all he was trying to do was trick Derek. He should have probably killed him when he had the chance.

Stilinski was back, holding a wooden tray with a bottle of water and some food on it. So his torture was about to begin for real. He couldn't remember the last  meal he had , so this time it would be even harder to get through this than the last. Sometimes he could just forget about food, when he was busy with other things, like not dying, but when it was right under his nose, he was tempted to drop to his knees in front of his torturers and beg,  just like they wanted him to . He was hoping that Stilinski would feed him at  _some_ point, maybe next week  at least, because Derek wasn't sure how much longer he could go on like this. At least Stilinski had an incentive to make sure he lived, since dead werewolves didn't fetch particularly high sums on the market.

'Open up,' Stilinski said, bringing a bottle to Derek's chaffed lips. Derek obliged without thinking it through, too engrossed in the hope that maybe, just maybe this wasn't a trap. Stilinski put a steadying hand at the back of Derek's head and tilted the bottle.

Derek almost cried from relief. It was water, real, clear water in his mouth. He gulped it down greedily, almost choking and before he knew it, the  small bottle was empty.  Derek looked at it longingly when Stilinski set it down on the nightstand. He thought that maybe he shouldn't have drank it all so quickly. God knows when he would get the next opportunity to drink.

'Don't look so sad, big guy. We'll get some food into you and then you can have some more of that,' Stilinski interrupted his train of thought  cheerfully. He set the wooden tray over Derek's lap and picked up a cup of yoghurt to tear off the lid. The tray was filled with all sorts of delicious-looking things, like soft, white bread, some berries and grapes and the yoghurt...that Stilinski apparently decided to feed to Derek himself. He wondered where the catch was.

'I'm sorry that I can't cook you a proper dinner, but I assumed you hadn't eaten in a while and I didn't want the meal to be too hard on your stomach,' Stilinski explained, as if apologising werewolves for not feeding them  'properly' was normal.

Derek wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry when a spoon of pinkish yoghurt appeared in front of his face. He decided to do neither and simply open his mouth and fill himself  up  as  much as his torturer would allow.

'Earlier...you panicked, didn't you?' Stilinski asked out of the blue. Derek had no doubts as to which incident he meant. He didn't reply. 'I shouldn't have cre pt up on you like that. It should have been obvious you'd be jumpy for a bit.'

Derek just glared at his assaulter, completely dumbstruck by the 'apology'. What tricks was he trying now?

'This isn't very comfortable, I bet, for both of us,' Stilinski put the spoon and the cup of yoghurt in Derek's field of vision  to explain what he meant by 'this' . 'So I think it would be great if I could take the chains off you, don't you  agree ?'

Derek still refused to answer. He wasn't going to  play along with this game .

'I'd really hate to use the collar, but if you attack me again, I won't have much choice,' Stilinski said as he reached  in to his pocket and took out a small silver key. He bent down over Derek, unlocking the chains on his wrists, only to move down the bed and free his legs. At least the chain hadn't been locked too tightly and Derek wouldn't have to suffer the pain of blood returning to his limbs. He remained unmoved, not sure what was expected of him.

'Go on, eat however much you want and leave whatever you don't like,' Stilinski instructed, still sitting at the foot of the bed and observing Derek. He didn't need to be told twice. He stuffed his mouth with as much food as he could and hunched protectively over his plate. Trainers had done this to him before, allowed him to have a taste and then snatched the food away as soon as Derek started eating. Stilinski did nothing though. He sat still, seemingly thinking, while Derek devoured the fruit and bread. He almost forgot how much he loved blueberries and as he bit down on them and tasted the sweet juice, the memories of his family flooded his mind again.

It didn't take him long to finish the meal and he sat back against the headboard once he finished, head hung low. Now that Stilinski was done with the basics, he'd probably drag Derek to the dung e on and leave him chained up for the night, maybe with a nice hot piece of metal buried in his stomach or some venomous bugs to keep him company. Just like Kate did.

'Do you need anything else? You seemed keen on that water earlier,' Stilinski said, while he picked up the tray from Derek's lap and set it back down on the desk.  _This_ was definitely a trap. 'Derek?' Stiles inquired when he kept silent, curling in on himself. 'Derek, what's wrong now?' Stilinski's voice sounded genuinely concerned. That didn't reassure Derek much and he drew his knees up to his chin, hoping to placate the human and at least live through the night without too much pain.

Stilinski ran out of the room suddenly and Derek listened to the sound of his steps on the stairs. It took him less than a minute to run back into the bedroom, panting, with a six-pack of water bottles in his hand. He set it down on the floor next to the bed, within Derek's reach and sat down next to him.

'Just take it if you want, you don't have to ask,' the human said, smiling at Derek sadly, as if he just understood something very important. Derek  analyzed the six-pack. It didn't look like it had been tampered with, so the chances of poisoning weren't big. Unlike his thirst. Keeping his eyes on Stilinski, he reached for the water with one hand and clumsily tore one bottle out of the plastic wrapping. His eyes still on Stilinski, he opened it, and took a sip. Nothing happened. No blows or kicks. He drank some more. Nothing. And some more. Stilinski still wasn't moving. Derek finished the drink and then the human...took the  empty bottle from his hand and carried it to the  waste bin?

'You slept for a few hours earlier, but it's late already, so you could have more of that if you want,' Stilinski said, disappearing into the en-suite for a split second. He came out with a bottle in his hand, but Derek couldn't say what that was.  He didn't react, hoping that Stilinski would show him where he was meant to sleep, because he sure as hell wouldn't be allowed more time in the torturer's  own bed. ' T urn over, back on your stomach,' the younger man instructed after he got no reaction from Derek.  The werewolf would rather avoid rape if possible, but Stilinski apparently brought lube this time, so he turned over. If he refused to cooperate now, he'd probably still get fucked  eventually, but without the mercy of Stilinski  prepping him a bit .

' Relax, I'm not going to hurt you,' Stilinski whispered. Then all of a sudden his hands were on Derek's back, slick with some sort of oil, doing things that felt too good to come from a human. Derek hadn't realised how  stiff he was until all the tension started bleeding slowly from his  abused muscles, as Stilinski worked his back firmly, but gently.  He didn't want to give in to the human's ministrations, but his instincts were too strong. And still too tired. When  Stilinski worked out a knot right next to Derek's right shoulder blade, the werewolf moaned quietly, without the strength to berate himself mentally for the slip-up.

'That's right, just relax, Derek,' Stilinski whispered.  Derek hated himself for obliging so easily with the human's commands, but all he was physically capable of doing was laying limp on the bed and not sobbing from relief.

'Go to sleep, Derek. You're okay,' Stilinski said quietly once his hands were gone from the werewolf's back.  Derek would have liked to protest, but he was so warm under the blanket that somehow found its way over his back and up to his neck that he was already having trouble keeping his eyes open. Stilinski's hand was back, though this time tangled in Derek's hair. It wasn't hitting, or twisting or yanking, just stroking slowly and delicately, as if it wasn't sure if it was allowed to be there.  'Go to sleep Derek,  tomorrow will be busy. Go to sleep, ' he heard.

And go to sleep he did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY hope I didn't disappoint you with this chapter. Any thoughts? Want some more? Constructive feedback is the best thing that can happen to an author, so please tell me what you liked, and what wasn't so good, so that I know how to improve in the future :) (PS. So I've looked at people's responses to chapter 2 so far and it seems like you liked the 'pilot' more. If you want, drop me a line about what wasn't so great about this and I may try to re-write this and make it better ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you goes to all of you who showed support for this work, it really means a lot to me :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

For a moment Stiles was confused as to why his bed got so uncomfortable all of a sudden, but he soon remembered that it wasn't his bed he was sleeping in that night, but rather an inflatable mattress he had laid out on the floor of Derek's room. Stiles was used to incoming werewolves doing all kinds of stupid things over their first days with him, so it was better to be safe than sorry and keep an eye out for Derek throughout the night.

He glanced at the screen of his phone laying next to him and decided to get up and prepare some breakfast for the two of them before waking Derek up. He got up slowly, making sure to be as quiet as possible, and made his way across the plush carpet. About halfway through the spacious room Stiles started wondering about where he'd left the chains the previous night, only to trip over the rusty metal – that he now discovered was laying right in the middle of the room – and fall to the floor, face down.

Thankfully, he didn't get tangled up in the chains, so he was back on his feet in the blink of an eye, but the damage was still done. Derek, having heard the noise, was up on his feet next to the bed, baring his fangs at Stiles, in a position that clearly signaled his readiness to attack the human. Stiles cursed himself inwardly, he'd promised to be more careful around Derek and now _this_ was happening.

Stiles extended his hands before him, palms open and turned towards Derek as a sign that he meant no harm. But the werewolf's eyes appeared unseeing, as if the only thing he could still focus on was the loud noise the chains had made, and the promise of suffering it had always brought. As soon as Stiles made the slightest move, wanting to lower his hands, Derek fell to his knees. Stiles raised his eyebrows up in surprise. Of all things, he didn't expect that.

Stiles took a deep breath and clenched his fingers around the remote for the collar that he kept in his pocket at all times. He wasn't all that keen on using it, but if he had to chose between being torn apart by a crazy werewolf and getting a bit rough, he'd pick the latter. Stiles counted to ten in his head – his control was as important as Derek's here – and knelt down on one knee next to Derek.

'What the hell was that?' Stiles asked, his voice coming out much more hostile than he intended it to. Derek didn't acknowledge his presence, so Stiles was forced to grab Derek by the hair, and lift his head up as gently as possible. He would have lifted Derek up by his chin, but going anywhere near Derek's fangs was too dangerous right now and he liked his fingers fine just where they were.

Derek didn't reply, just glared at Stiles and tried to look at everything but his owner's face.

'Now I'm starting to think that they weren't so wrong when they labeled you extremely violent and shipped you off to me,' Stiles murmured. Derek tensed immediately, trying to move away from Stiles as much as possible, clearly scared of what this comment meant for him. 'But don't worry, I'll fix you up,' Stiles added, this time cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood. Derek still didn't seem amused. He bared his fangs again and growled, clearly trying to send a message to Stiles, although this time it appeared nowhere near threatening.

'Pick out some comfy clothes from the closet and come down for breakfast. And stop acting like a lunatic or I'll be forced to treat you as such,' Stiles said, once again too harshly. He didn't want to be that hard on the werewolf, but he did get scared for a second there and he needed that illusion of power to keep him from panicking. Sometimes he wondered if he was in the right line of work, considering all the issues he had of his own.

He didn't spare Derek a second glance before leaving the spare bedroom.

* * *

Derek started seriously considering the notion that Kate hit him too hard on the head and that this was all just a twisted dream. He almost assaulted Stilinski, but all he got was a little bit of rough handling and apparently an invitation to join him for breakfast?

These incidents were starting to worry him, though. When he was still with...before...all this...he could control his instincts just fine, he had been taught by the best. But ever since the...since it happened, he kept having these outbursts. Even the quietest of unexpected sounds could set him off, much like people's sudden movements. It felt like his own consciousness was being replaced by this jumpy, uncontrollable and angry _something_ and it worried Derek more than anything.

He had meant to behave well with Stilinski, at least for the first few weeks. He would fight back eventually, when the retrainer expected it least, but to be successful, he needed to make Stilinski believe that he wasn't a threat. Attacking him twice within the their first 24 hours together was a heavy blow to his plan. If these outbursts of panic continued, he'd probably end up chained in the basement again, or worse still, dead.

Derek chased these negative thoughts away, they'd probably just exasperate his anxiety. He opened the closet to prepare for the day, as Stilinski asked, and he could swear that his jaw dropped open. Clothes. There were real clothes inside the closet, the kind he hadn't worn for years but always appreciated when he was still free. And there were so many of them.

Derek picked out a pair of black slacks and a gray t-shirt, not sure what Stilinski would like to see on him, and after putting them on, headed downstairs. If he wanted to play the good slave for now, he'd better not keep Stilinski waiting for too long.

'Sit,' his torturer 'welcomed' him cheerfully when Derek entered the messy kitchen. Derek stopped in his tracks. This was probably a trap: whether he knelt down on the floor or sat in one of the chairs at the table, he could get in trouble for disobeying a direct order.

Stilinski accidentally came to his rescue however, when he pushed Derek towards the chair when he brought a plate filled with waffles to the table. Derek sat down, stunned, and kept his eyes firmly on the empty plate sitting in front of him. He could smell fruit, orange juice, pancakes and some toast. Was Stilinski cooking for an army or for himself?

'Help yourself,' Stilinski mumbled, his mouth already filled with a pancake, overflowing with excessive quantities of what appeared to be Nutella. Derek felt his mouth water, but wouldn't dare reach for neither the pancakes, nor the jar filled with the chocolatey-cream. The last time he tried that...didn't turn out so well. 'Just take whatever you want,' Stilinski added.

Derek opened his mouth, about to back-talk at Stilinski, when he remembered that it wouldn't serve him well in the long run. _Good slave, just be a good slave for now._ He really liked the smell of these pancakes – they smelt like home – but they definitely weren't included in the 'whatever you want'. There were certain things he wasn't allowed to want, after all.

When Stilinski reached for another bite of his pancake across the table, Derek smelt it. _Something was burning._

Something was burning and he couldn't breathe. In a matter of seconds all air seemed to have disappeared from the room and _somehow_ Derek knew that he was about to die, to _burn_ to death. His chest was already starting to hurt but he needed to run, to get out of there. His body disagreed. The tremors tore through him as he tried to leverage himself over something (was it a table?) but his hands were sweating so much that he couldn't get a grip on anything. His chest hurt even more...his heart wasn't going to burst, was it? Suddenly he hit something hard, unable to register what it was was. But that didn't really matter , because he _couldn't breathe_ . He remembered this happening before...oh no, he needed...he _had_ to breathe now or Ka-, no, Stilinski would hurt him again. The first time this happened, Kate had him beaten unconscious because he couldn't calm down and she didn't know what was going on. Stilinski would do the same or worse, Derek's plan would fail at its very onset! ...But he...it hurt too much and he was dying and his lungs were on fire and _something was burning,_ _**he** _ _was burning_ and it hurt and he was dying _..._

* * *

For the first few seconds of it, Stiles had no idea what was going on. Derek went stiff all of a sudden and the expression on his face turned from that of reluctant neutrality, into pure, raw panic. Stiles looked around the kitchen, trying to identify what could be causing Derek's distress. The toaster was smoking. Oh God, he forgot about the toasts, _again._ He unplugged the device right after dropping a fire blanket on it, silently thanking his dad for forcing him to keep it around as a precautionary measure.

Now that the fire hazard was taken care of, Derek needed his attention. Stiles really didn't want to find out what damage a panicked werewolf could do.

Derek was shaking all over and hyperventilating, his vision unfocused, as if he was in some distant place rather than the kitchen. He looked as if he wanted to run, but he was rooted to his spot in the chair, sweating. Stiles was all to familiar with this, but he'd learned to handle these situations. He was a professional.

The human put his arms around Derek's shoulders and gently lowered him to the floor. If Derek fell off the chair himself, he could smash his head on the table and that would mean that Stiles failed at his assignment. He'd failed enough already, he wouldn't let that happen again. The werewolf didn't even seem to have noticed that he'd been moved. His unseeing eyes were still staring at a fixed point on the wall, his body wracked with tremors and constantly jerking in Stiles' hold as Derek desperately tried to draw in air.

Stiles was angry with Derek, although he knew how unreasonable it was. Talking him down from this would be _so_ much easier if the werewolf just gave in and trusted him already, but it was crazy to expect that from him at such an early stage of his training. Stiles had techniques, but they would take a while to kick in.

So instead of promising Derek that it would be okay, that he wasn't in danger, Stiles just talked to give the werewolf something he could focus on – an anchor. He talked about the research he was doing – on werewolf metabolism, on how their bodies differed from those of humans, about how he knew what was happening to Derek right now and how he had seen it happen to other people and werewolves before. He didn't mention those countless times when Lydia or Scott found him curled up in the locker room, feeling like he was going out of his mind; Derek didn't need to know this, while Stiles couldn't allow his personality to bleed into his personal life. He was still a human and humans were too easy to manipulate.

Derek finally blinked up at him when Stiles was explaining the chemical process of developing the sedative he'd used last night. Wolfsbane was involved, obviously, but Stiles promised that its purpose wasn't to hurt. He took a moment before _actually_ making an attempt at interacting with Derek and counted to a hundred in his head before looking down at his trainee. The werewolf spoke before his trainer even had the chance to open his mouth.

'I didn't mean to...sir,' Derek rasped, obviously trying to avoid looking at Stiles.

'I know,' Stiles replied. He didn't say that he didn't mind or that it would be okay, because the one thing he always gave his trainees was honesty. Well not _always_ , rather as always as the situation allowed.

Stiles was quite surprised when Derek didn't bolt from his lap straight away. So far the werewolf had made it clear enough how he felt about Stiles, just like most trainees did, and the human suspected that Derek would want to stay as far away from him as possible. But then something weird happened.

Derek's hand was on Stiles' belt buckle, pulling the black piece of leather from its silver loop. His fingers were shaking, but he made progress steadily, seemingly undisturbed by Stiles' surprised 'what...?' As soon as he undid the belt, his fingers moved on to the button of Stiles' jeans, leaving no room for questions about what he was about to.

Stiles sat stunned for a moment, incapable of reacting, but he knew that he needed to stop this, _now._

'Derek,' he attempted to get the werewolf's attention, in vain. Derek was done with the button, his hands folded back in his lap again. But his _teeth_ , his teeth, very much human and blunt now, were on Stiles' zip, pulling it down as Derek's nose nuzzled his crotch, whether intentionally or not, Stiles couldn't tell.

He wouldn't mind getting some, especially from a person as attractive as Derek, but he wouldn't risk the entire operation just for this. He needed the werewolf to trust him for Stiles to be successful in... training him, and taking advantage of him certainly wasn't a good way of achieving that. But boy, was Derek doing things to him...

Stiles pushed Derek off his lap and onto the floor, as gently as possible. The werewolf was clearlyagitated so the human needed to thread the water carefully. He grabbed both of Derek's wrists in his hands and kept them pinned to the werewolf's chest, albeit gently, in order to settle him down a bit.

'Breathe for me, Derek,' Stiles instructed in a voice so quiet that it would hardly be audible to a human. The werewolf complied, looking slightly less terrified once he saw that a punishment wasn't coming straight away. Stiles just kept repeating the same phrase over and over to give Derek some time to regain his composure. 'I'm going to get up now and bring you some water,' the trainer stated, remembering what happened the last time he moved without warning Derek. He quickly filled a glass with cold water and picked up a Hershey's bar on the way back from the sink. To his surprise, Derek went willingly when Stiles drew him to chest again and put the glass to his lips. He didn't seem so keen on the chocolate, but Stiles wouldn't let him squirm his way out of it, it was important.

'Feeling better now?' the trainer asked hopefully.

'Y-yes, sir,' Derek mumbled.

'We've got some work to do, so go upstairs, take a shower and I'll be with you in half an hour,' Stiles instructed, while helping Derek get to his feet.

Stiles accompanied Derek upstairs, but disappeared into his office, located at the very end of the corridor. As soon as he was sure that the werewolf was in his room for good, he picked up his laptop and slumped on the sofa in the corner of the room. Derek was an interesting case, he had to admit that. Most werewolves he had to deal with were either completely terrified and submissive or as aggressive as their files made them out to be. Derek was somewhere in the middle though and Stiles knew that it would take him some time to figure this case out. He double-clicked an icon in his 'Home' folder and a PDF document came up on the screen. It was a registry of every werewolf that had ever come through Stiles' door.

He was very meticulous about keeping the files – they were not only helpful when dealing with new werewolves or looking for potential buyers, but could also aid him in his scientific research.

Isaac was similar to Derek in a way. Stiles remembered clearly how terrified the guy was when he first arrived and how he tried to appease the trainer, much like Derek just did. The human didn't even have to use the...heavy weaponry even once with him, because his biggest problem was fear rather than anything else. He wasn't aggressive though, not like Derek could be, so Isaac's case wouldn't help Stiles much with this one. Jackson was the complete opposite, but his story of constant rebelliousness, anger and chains wouldn't shed any light on Derek's situation either.

In Stiles' business, time was money, because if he came across an unrepairable delinquent – one that took up too much of his time – another werewolf who could be brought to him would either be put down at the Facility or sold on to someone else. Stiles didn't even know Derek for a day, but his erratic behavior – the jumps from aggression to offering blowjobs – indicated that Derek would be one of those werewolves that would cause _a lot_ of trouble.

Maybe he should prepare for the worst eventuality straight away. He picked up his phone and dialed. Doctor Deaton picked up on the third ring.

'Hi doc,' Stiles greeted him.

'Hi, what can I do for you?' the voice on the other end of the line asked.

'I just had a new werewolf come in. I haven't looked into him properly yet, will be doing that in a minute, but what's happened so far is telling me that this will be one of the more time consuming cases,' Stiles explained, hoping that Derek wouldn't be able to hear him from that distance.

'And I assume that, as always, you're rather short of time?'

'You know how it is,' Stiles confessed, slightly ashamed of himself. He felt like he should be doing a better job with this whenever he had to turn to the more extreme measures. Then again, didn't the end justify the means? 'So...I just wanted to make sure that I have your back on this, that you can...finish off the problem if the need arises. I know that you're busy enough with your day-job as it is, but you know, payment will be provided and...'

Stiles didn't get to finish as he was interrupted by Dr. Deaton.

'You know that I'm committed to the case. This is all to protect people after all, so I'm more than happy to contribute,' the veterinarian said. 'I've got a sick dog here, but keep in touch if you need anything.' Then he hung up, leaving Stiles to ponder over how Derek's training could blow up in both their faces by the end of the day.

* * *

Derek was pleased with himself. The two attacks (damn it, two in one morning!) were something to be concerned about, but at least that little spectacle he put on for Stilinski in the kitchen would remedy his wrongdoing from earlier. Derek wouldn't lie to himself, he _was_ still scared of how his training would unfold, but if he turned out to be obedient from the onset, at least it wouldn't take too long, would it? Though you can never know with psychopaths. Gerard would be kind to Derek too sometimes, only because he knew that it would intensify his pain later on.

Derek assumed that when Stilinski told him to take a shower, he actually meant it, so the werewolf stripped swiftly and got into the cubicle. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper shower, although the bathroom he was given here was much different than that he remembered from his family home. Not a single mirror was anywhere in sight, he couldn't spot a shadow of a razor and all electrical plug-ins were locked up behind plastic covers that could only be lifted by someone who owned a key. Derek got it, he had claws and fangs so no one would suspect him of using a razor to murder his trainer, so all opportunities for him to trick Stilinski had been taken care of. Smart.

It didn't take him long to shower. The conditions may have been civilized but cold water was still well, cold, so it was rather unpleasant. He would have gone for warm, but Stilinski would probably notice the steam and if he was anything like Gerard, he would have burnt Derek for the infraction to teach him a lesson.

When he exited the en-suite, Stilinski was already sitting on the bed, waiting for him. So it would begin for real now. Derek was glad that he'd put on dark clothes, at least the blood wouldn't be that visible.

'Come on, the sooner we get started with our first session, the sooner it'll be over,' Stilinski said, motioning towards the door with his head. Derek went out into the dark corridor, his torturer-to-be only a step behind him. 'Turn left, go straight to the end of the corridor, okay?'

Derek followed the instructions, surprised that they weren't heading downstairs. Surely, having the dungeon in an actual basement would be better? The neighbours wouldn't have to listen to the howling, not to mention that they wouldn't be able to peek in on whatever Stilinski was doing.

He was startled when someone put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him inside the brightly lit room on the left of the corridor.

It looked strangely nonthreatening, but Derek knew better than to let his guard down. There were enough drawers in the room to house an impressive collection of weapons and the fact that the huge recliner chair in the middle of the room looked so fluffy was probably just to serve as a distraction from its _real,_ ominous purpose.

'Take a seat,' Stilinski said, making Derek jump. 'In the chair, Derek,' he added. Once he was seated in the chair that almost felt too comfortable, his tormentor continued. 'What I want us to do today is go through your file. Different people see different events differently. I need your perspective on some of the stuff your previous owners said about you.'

Derek could practically feel the wheels spinning in his head. He would need to play this carefully. Stilinski knelt down next to him, and a pair shackles materialized in Derek's field of vision. Of course, they were going to have an honest chit-chat, but only on the trainer's terms.

'That's just a precaution. You may not like some of the things I'll ask you about and I'd rather chain you up now than have to electrocute you later,' Stilinski said apologetically.

The restraints were apparently fixed to the chair, but they were different from the ones Derek had worn so far. These were padded with something really soft, like the best kind of leather his dad used to have his jackets made of. They didn't make so much noise, so Derek concluded that they were made from something different than simple metal. When Stilinski was done, he could still move his hands freely, the chains would only restrain him if he tried to bolt.

'Let's get on with it,' Stilinski settled in a big, leather-covered chair behind his desk. 'It says here that you killed someone. A girl. When you were young.'

So that was how he did it, how he broke them, Derek thought. He got into their heads, messed around with the things that mattered to them, tore them apart from the inside and then put them back together the way he wanted them. But he wasn't going to give Stilinski the satisfaction. He wasn't going to break.

'Yes,' Derek spat out. He would have explained, had it been his mother, or at least Laura, but it was Stilinski here instead. He wouldn't care that Derek just tried to lessen her suffering.

'Why?'

'I...' A million answers jumped to Derek's mind at once. _Because I was selfish. Because I was scared. Because I was too immature to protect her better. Because Peter...because I let myself be manipulated._

'Why?' Stilinski asked again, when he received no reply. His gaze felt like an arrow, drilling its way through Derek's head. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know why bad things happened to good people, so how could he reply? 'You met the girl at school before you were caught, befriended her and then killed her. You didn't deny it when you were asked about it during your first debriefing at the Facility, so I _really_ need to know why.'

Of course he didn't deny it, if he'd tried, they would have used Peter's confession to 'prove' him a liar. But he still didn't know _why._

'I c-can't...' Derek mumbled, his body starting to shake already.

'Ok, let's move on for now,' Stilinski sighed. 'When you got sold to your first owner, he had a lot of different werewolves at once, correct?'

Derek nodded.

'You had a pack of your own. Another alpha did too. The one who...caused all this in the first place. You fought, you ended up killing one of your own. Run him through with your claws, correct?'

_Technically,_ Derek thought as the memories flooded his mind. Memories of the old barn – which he used to think of as home – flooded with water, kneeling in the middle of this mayhem, being held by the alpha twins and...He didn't want to kill him, he didn't, he _really_ didn't, but they were stronger and they held him down and he couldn't do anything and then-

'There are the typical complaints coming from your previous five owners: disobedience, aggression, complete lack of respect for authority,' Stilinski sounded rather bored now. Derek realised that the trainer must have dealt with plenty of such unoriginal complaints, so he didn't even try to deny the 'charges'.

'And finally there's, oh....' Stilinski went still of a sudden and he paled visibly. For the first time since they met, the trainer looked at him with actual apprehension...or was it disgust? Maybe fear? Derek would have been bold and asked what was so horrible that made even the cruelest man in Beacon Hills uneasy, but his throat still felt constricted. He tried to not think about Paige, about his pack too much - that had always got him into trouble, but now that they had been brought up, he knew it wouldn't be easy to let go.

'It says...' Stilinski choked out. His heart was hammering in his chest and Derek could feel the _panic_ radiating off him in waves. What lie could they have come up with to make Stilinki react like that? 'Your last trainers claim that you caused the death of eight people. Your family.' For the first time since they met, Stilinski visibly avoided eye-contact with Derek. ' I'm sorry that I had to bring this up, I know it must be...painful, but I _really_ need you to deny it. Out loud. For me. Please.' Stilinski's heart was hammering so fast that Derek wasn't sure that he wouldn't just drop to the floor, right here and now.

But his own heart was probably beating faster, his head hurt so much he was scared it might explode any second. Derek squeezed his eyes shut and let a lone tear slide down his cheek. Not because, for some reason, he was upset at the thought of Stilinski being so disgusted with him but because he couldn't give him what he wanted.

He couldn't deny killing his family. Because out of all the things in his file, this one wasn't a lie.

Stilinski didn't need to break him any more. Derek just broke of his own accord.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Constructive feedback makes me smile like an idiot, so do leave some if you liked/disliked something in particular. I hope you enjoyed this :)
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> (PS. I may or may not want to use Boyd later on in the story, so the person that Derek killed isn't necessarily him. I just used the plotline from the series because as far as deaths and character building go, this one was pretty good.)


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